Justice by Bader Shehab

They called for justice,

And sounded in one voice,
But all they ever got were pluralist stanzas,
Of shoulder-cut suits serenading sweet harmonies
To ears’ flavor

They all called for justice,
And sounded off in one voice,
But all they ever got was the extra-large French fries and soda, Minus a sandwich of deaf clandestine promises and a side of forgotten amnesia

After they refueled they called for justice,
And sounded off in one voice,
But all they ever got were bargained
Rails of cocaine,
Snorted on tabletops of silk lava and molten dynasties below rooftops of gold-parched archangels,
Watching in silent eyes the underbellies of paradise

Yet they still called for justice,
And sounded off in one voice,
But yet again all they got were correct lies and perfect tirades
Of transcending tears,
Excusing the civics of municipality and a whole lot of patents and out sourcing

They once again called for justice,
And sounded off in one voice,
But all they ever got was the very justice served on a Victoria Secret model’s back,
The smell of lust and meat, an appetizer for their shallow minds,
Designed to evade translucently the epochs of design

They still called for justice,
And still sounded off in one voice,
But all they ever got,
Was a tiring drive-by,
Under a blazing sun,
Reflecting on the metallic paint job,
The many faces upon refracting dough and few hands waving blindly at aimless hopeful dreams…

I called for justice,
And sounded off in my voice,
But all I ever got was a shot up,
Overdosed,
Blood-loss of what you may call a “Queen”,
In the mask of how one would say, and excuse my French,

A clamoring of an ambivalent broke crack whore,
Gyro-fusing the melodies of church bells,
While having a hard time deciding between
Contemplating the wiles of humanity,
Or making food for the apocalypse.

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